Girl can't help it aka Kurt, the Vampire Slayer
by vraire
Summary: Do you think being gay is hard? Try slaying demons, that's hard.
1. Chapter 1: There was a boy

Episode 1: Girl can't help it

_Chapter 1: There was a boy_

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any Glee or Buffy characters, they belong to their creators.

* * *

><p><em>Requiem Aeternam<br>Dona eis Domine  
>Et lux perpetua<br>Luceat eis_

Finn didn't know why he'd agreed to that.

But, after a moment of thinking, he knew - he was just too good. Too chivalrous. Maybe it was because of that fairytales his mother read him when he was a child? The same fairytales she encouraged him to read when he grew up a little? Well, she never succeeded. Instead of knights, dragons and damsels in distress, he was shaped by the TV - _Power Rangers, Dragonball _and things like that. Contrary to the popular opinion, Finn knew that those series were encouraging; always be good, don't hesitate to defend a lady. Yeah, thanks to them he was who he was.

And that brought him that night to the cemetery with Rachel.

* * *

><p>"I can't honor him like I would like to."<p>

He looked at her from above (that wasn't hard with his height), simultaneously raising one of his eyebrows. Unintentionally of course, though some people asked from time to time if his eyebrows were ok, but that was just his expression for showing surprise. And the world was surprising him every day.

"With a song, of course."

"Ah," he sighed. Now he was just surprised by his own stupidity. How could he not know that?

Rachel slammed her locker's door.

"Thanks." She gave him a bright, Jewish smile. The one that showed her pure joy and the joy of manipulating another man to do what she would like to be done.

* * *

><p>Another thing that Finn was confused about: why it had to be at night. And why that particular night. But he'd rather not interrupt her with his pointless questions. He'd have to remember to ask about that later (but he'd surely forget about that). He sometimes liked to play computer games. The characters hardest to understand (for him) were berserkers. The wild warriors, turned on by the rage of fight. Even if they were cut, bleeding from every hole in their bodies and aware of their fast approaching death, they still kept fighting. In a rage, possessed by fury. He couldn't imagine that - how it looks, how a man can feel such fury and ecstasy at once. And then he saw Rachel sing for the first time.<p>

_Te Decet  
>Hymnus deus in Sion<br>Et tibi redetur votum  
>In Jerusalem<em>

Actually, he'd already had an opportunity to hear her singing at night. They'd been similarly surrounded by trees that sometimes resembled human shapes, which was giving him goosebumps. It was dark everywhere, and the faint moonlight wasn't encouraging either. And to top it all off, every whisper of the wind seemed to harmonize with Rachel, and yet… threaten him? He knew he was overreacting, but he couldn't get rid of that annoying feeling. It just kept coming back. Time after time, too persistently.

Of course he hadn't mentioned it then, and he wouldn't do it now. He didn't want to look like a coward to her. They may not be a couple anymore, but he cared about the image of a knight without flaws, ready to help every woman and person in need. Well, maybe Jesus who looked at him kissing Quinn had a different opinion, but in fact - Jesus had no influence on his image in school, right?

It was a good thing that the cemetery was kept in good condition. Nothing cracked under his feet, not a smallest, accidentally stepped on branch had to remind him of the sound of cracking bone. The only annoying thing were the leaves falling and dancing in the wind between the two of them. One of the leaves had just grazed Finn's neck.

He had to admit - it was kind of nice. He felt a thrill, like a soft hand touched him. Can a leaf be soft?

He tried to touch that place on his neck to strengthen that feeling. But instead of his goosebumped skin he felt something cold and smooth. He turned around.

And screamed.

_Ex audi  
>Orationem meam<em>

Rachel was the leader of that trip. Finn was there to keep her spirits up. And to act as a listener, of course. She didn't like to sing to empty spaces - at home she had a mirror, so she could imagine she was the singer and the spectator at the same time. But on the cemetery? At night? There was no doubt - she needed someone to protect her. And to listen to her. Not necessarily in that order. She began the next verse more powerfully, more deeply, as she tried to reach her very heart.

_Ad te omnis caro  
>Veniet<br>Requiem_

Obviously, she couldn't sing that at home! It was a song for someone — a memorandum — a prayer. It would be… rude to sing it to the mirror. He could have felt offended. And even though there was a possibility that he was in heaven right now, she wouldn't want to make him mad. He could still be dangerous. She took a deeper, yet still discreet breath. She needed a lot of air to finish the song the way she wanted to - on a hard, high pitch. With power. Like a diva.

_Requiem Aeternam  
>Requiem Aeternam<em>

A few more times, silently, murmurando, she repeated the last words. She stopped and took a breath. Her heart was beating like crazy - contrary to the popular opinion, singing is an extremely tiring and extraordinarily emotional activity. Sometimes she thought of herself as an instrument - to effectively interpret the tone she had to pull the right strings – the accurate memories. She had to feel moved enough. So what if she was making ridiculous faces? That was a surprisingly low price for an amazing show.

She smiled and turned on her tip-toes. Like a . Her cotton dress whirled. Jak pensjonarce.

"Donna eis, my dear, donna eis," said an extremely ugly woman. And when Rachel thought "ugly", she really meant it, although she usually tried to be reserved in her judgments. But the unnatural angle of her eyebrows, bared, unequal and sharp teeth, earthy-dirty hair, and her whole face was covered with furrows (that couldn't even be called wrinkles!). Well, if her friends sometimes pictured Beiste to "cool down", then Rachel couldn't imagine how effective this woman would be.

She would probably turn every boy into a eunuch.

Even her voice was unpleasant. Scratchy. Like every spoken word hurt her throat. Disgusted, Rachel could bet that the mysterious woman couldn't sing.

But that wasn't the worst thing.

In her claws (claws! God, Kurt would weep if he could only see what ridiculous fingers that dreadful woman had) the stranger was holding Finn's neck, leaving only a part of it uncovered. She was rubbing, massaging it with one of her fingers. To encourage better blood flow. That was what her dads used to say - that massaging encourages better blood flow.

She was struck by a sudden thought. You idiot! How haven't you thought about this earlier?

She's planning to do bad things with Finn! Maybe even kill him? At least if she wanted to pet them, she wouldn't lurk on a cemetery at night. Or maybe… maybe she was hunting for Rachel? Maybe her plan was to destroy her talent and Finn was just in the way. That made him her defender! Her champion!

"Oh, Finn…" she smiled. She would've loved to say how grateful she was.

But it wasn't the right time, probably.

What should she do? Scream? She screamed.

"Idiot. Nobody can hear you." Oh, if only that woman would shut up. Her voice was incredibly annoying.

She clenched her fists. She felt helpless. She couldn't hit her, it was pointless. She would love to stomp her leg, but she could see the pointlessness and the overdramatic aspect of that behavior. Run? She couldn't leave Finn alone… with that woman.

And then something disturbed the peaceful flow of the wind. Rachel couldn't see what that was, everything was going too fast. She wasn't even able to make a single sound. Only after a short moment she could see a part of a beige trench coat and a loosely flowing strap. According to Kurt, it was the latest trend in fashion.

The trench coat knocked the ugly woman down, setting Finn free of her grip. He made a clumsy step to the side, held his throat and started gulping down air in a grotesque way. He looked funny and cute at the same time. Rachel leaped to him and embraced his waist.

"Oh, Finn, oh, Finn," she whispered, touching his face with her hand. "Is everything okay, my hero?"

Big-eyed from hypoxia and a sudden rise in his blood pressure, Finn only nodded his head. He pointed his finger at the tackled woman. Until then Rachel hadn't realized what knocked that woman down. Of course it wasn't a trench coat. Trench coats, by definition, don't disarm people. It was the trench coat's owner. He was as fast as… prestissimo.

The one sitting on the ugly woman was Kurt.

* * *

><p>The boy immobilized his enemy in a very simple way. First he knocked her down by pushing with his elbow. When she was stunned he hopped to her, kicked with his knee and knelt. He passed his leg over her belly and with a hand holding a stick of some kind, he held her hands above her head. But this plan wasn't flawless. That left Kurt was only one free hand, but he'd rather press it on the enemy's stomach to be sure. So what else he could do? He arranged his lips so that the air was directed to the left side of his temple. He blew again, harder. This time his bangs stopped falling over his eyes, but it was far from the perfect arrangement over which he labored before he left home.<p>

"I should say some clever and witty pun now, but you made me angry," he said in his high-pitched voice. In spite of its timbre it was still kind of scary. As if their countertenor had some kind of experience at being angry and cynical. He paid no attention to Rachel and Finn. "You've ruined my hair."

He moved his hand from her belly to her throat. He freed the hand with the stick, raised it a little to gain momentum and stabbed her chest with the stick just where the heart supposed to be.

Rachel screamed. She was too sensitive to watch such a barbaric act as murder! Especially murder committed by someone as delicate as Kurt. She knew that he had a lot of anger inside of him, and it manifested often, sometimes pointlessly (but that's just the nature of natural stars, at least she wanted to think so)… But murder!

She'd probably have more sad thoughts, but she didn't see the expected fountain of blood that would splatter them all, she saw the woman… slowly, but steadily; at first the hair and limbs, then the rest of the body… turning into dust. Why?

Kurt got up from the ground and dusted his knee, the trench. He held one of the flaps in his fingers and looked at it closely.

"Fuck."

He licked his finger and started wiping at the grass stain. He gave up after a few seconds.

"Thanks, bitch," he said angrily to… emptiness. The dust was taken by the wind.

Then he raised his eyes and looked directly at Finn and Rachel, who seemed slightly confused. Kurt couldn't decide who looked dumber: his step-brother with his gaping mouth and wide open eyes or Rachel, whose eyes expressed total surprise and lips tightened with fear.

"A vampire. A vampiress," he announced, as if those two words (or two variations on one word) could explain everything. They stood in silence for a moment. "And Rachel. Your finish was a little over the top_. _You should've ended it softer, maybe a little march-like, not like an aria."

"What are you doing at the cemetery… at night?" Finally Finn managed to ask the stupid question.

Rachel gave him one for her I'm-better-than-you looks - like those words erased all her emotions and replaced them with quasi-indignation, which seized her whole.

"Is that all you can ask after that… vampiress, that fight, dust and…"

"Actually," Kurt interrupted the stream of words, "I'm waiting for someone."

* * *

><p>Rachel felt like she was on an emotional rollercoaster. She forgot all about the anger. It was replaced by an undeniable surprise.<p>

Something rustled in the nearest bush right behind a row of gravestones. Rachel couldn't miss that in one second every one of Kurt's muscles tensed, and he raised his stick to the level of his chest. His response to a slightest mysterious noise was just like a Pavlov's dog's response to a light. What had happened to him?

From behind a tall, weeping angel sculpture came a handsome man. They definitely could see his muscled form in the dark, but he had to make a few steps (slow, but confident steps) before they could make out his face in the moonlight.

Kurt slowly turned around. He calmed down.

Finn couldn't remember that man, but he knew he was familiar in some way.

"Who is this?" He whispered, leaning close to Rachel. He wouldn't want to disrupt the silence. It had to be important, or someone would say something, but everybody seemed to celebrate that silence.

"Karofsky," she replied, swallowing loudly.

Right! He couldn't recognize him at first. He wasn't used to seeing Dave in a suit. He usually wore sweaty t-shirts and jock jackets. Now, with his neck imprisoned by a tight collar and a black tie with silver dots he looked like… a businessman?

"You're here," he said in a deep voice. He went silent, like that "you're here" covered everything what he had to say.

"I was waiting for you," Kurt replied. He tried to sound serious and confident. He couldn't let Karofsky see how scared he was.


	2. Chapter 2: Funeral

**Author's note: **So, here we go again! Sorry for such a long break, but you know - classes took me more time that I expected, then a chapter needed translation (and almost 5000 words! are not a piece of cake). But I proudly present chapter two and I hope you enjoy :D

There was no need earlier, but now I can honestly warn: there are spoilers to 2x19 "Rumours". After that episode Kurt tVS and canon are drifting in different directions (and believe it or not - that chapter was written before 2x20 :)

And it's highly recommended to play the described song in an appropriate time!

* * *

><p><em>Chapter 2: Funeral<em>

"It's going to be hard." Emma fixed the collar sticking out from her black sweater. It needed tiding up in her opinion, of course.

Will put his hand on her shoulder. With that simple gesture he tried to comfort her. He couldn't guess that it would make her feel even more tense than usual. They were standing in front of the large, one-storey building of the funeral house. Next to them were the massive, heavy door above which was sign saying "Rowlins' Funeral House." The courtyard was surrounded by a columnade covered by ivy. The steep, red rooftop gave the place an aura of something eerie. The whole thing looked more like a humble castle than a place of reflexion, a place of the last goodbye.

"Will."

The Spanish teacher turned around. Emma sighed, which the man didn't see, when he took his hand off her shoulder.

"Emma."

Now they were standing in front of Sue. Will had to admit he felt a little surprised. He assumed that she had some kind of a funeral tracksuit, but she was dressed very appropriately. A black woman's suit, ironed trousers and shoes on low heels. Her face was twisted with a shadow of a smile.

"I like your hair. It's so… grim."

"Don't you think that…" Emma tried to help Sue realize that her behavior was a little out of place, but the woman interrupted her.

"There's gonna be a lot of dust. Don't get dirty."

She moved to the other mourners gathering next to the entrance.

"Ah," she said carelessly, not even bothering to turn to Emma and Will. "I've forgotten. They are not supposed to cremate the body, so you don't need to be afraid, Bree."

"I don't know why she came." Will sent an angry look at Sue.

"She feeds on hatred. And pain." Emma looked at Will. He could see in her eyes that she was feeling lost. He could easily hear that her voice was cracking. She was always so delicate, so sensitive… She needed to be protected. He couldn't remember when he saw her smiling for the last time. "Shall we go inside?"

"I'd rather wait for Kurt. He may need support."

„Just like me" Emma thought, but she said nothing. She didn't dare to. She didn't do yet another thing. Maybe she could add it to the list of things that could've changed her life, but she was too afraid to do them.

Just then the Hummels' car drove up.

The first to get out was Kurt. He looked spotless. A little vintage. He was wearing black, plain trousers, high, leather boots, a white shirt with a wide frill. It was covered by a low-cut vest with small, shiny buttons. A silver watch stuck out of his buttonhole, with the second end of the chain hidden in the waistcoat pocket. Elegant and with a stroke of extravagance. That was so Kurt.

Right after Kurt got out Burt. He closed the car and straightened up. He gave Kurt one of his typical, paternal glances. "I-want-to-be-supportive", as Kurt called it, when his father's protectiveness got bothersome.

"It's okay, Dad. I can handle this. I will join you in a second."

"If…"

"It's alright." Kurt didn't give him a chance to finish a sentence.

Burt raised his arms in surrender and entered the funeral house.

"How are you doing, Kurt?"

"Mr. Schuester. Ms Pillsbury."

Emma smiled. Warmly. At least she tried to. When Kurt turned away from her eyes, she bit her lips. She was eager to help him, say something smart, something supportive. But she didn't want to take the risk of giving him bad advice. Not this time.

"I'm fine." He replied. "To be honest… It's not so hard."

"Aren't you sad?"

"No. Of course it's not that I'm happy…" he added when he realized how worried Emma looked after hearing those words. "But… I'm not sad."

An embarrassing, unpleasant silence followed.

"I think I'll join my father."

"If you need anything…"

"I know." Kurt smiled… But it was a sad smile. "We can always count on you."

"Yeah…"

Will looked at Kurt as he walked away.

"Every time I think that I know his twisted personality, his logic, he does something that I can't understand" he confessed to Emma. Quietly. Things said in quiet are less terrifying.

Emma nodded. She knew that feeling well. Not only in relation to Kurt, but to herself as well.

* * *

><p>As soon as Kurt entered the spacious hall, his father came up to him.<p>

"Finn was looking for you. He's with the rest in one of the side rooms."

"One moment," Kurt replied. He needed some time. He had to reflect about certain things. Gather his thoughts, focus. The last thing he wanted to do was enter that small room filled with an ambience of sadness and grief, where he wouldn't know how to behave. He looked around. Everything was so… comfy. The huge rags placed on the floor, a crackling fire in the fireplace. An old wall clock. If you could focus for a moment you'd fall into a hypnotizing rhythm. Tick, tock. If you let it overwhelm you, you could be totally immersed in it. You could forget about everything.

The sofas looked truly cozy. The blue, fluffy upholstery was welcoming to sit down and drown in contemplation. Maybe the handles with strange, twisted shapes were slightly ridiculous, but to sum it up - it looked like a good place for reflection, but not to be overtaken by piercing sadness. Though that overbearing, strong smell of white lilies didn't encourage to stay in that place for too long.

Kurt spotted a vending machine set up in the corner of room. He thought it was a strange contrast - with all that stylish interior, the machine looked out of place. He approached it and stared at the stuff behind the glass. Chips made noise. Candy bars… Don't people know what chocolate does to their skin? Ignoramuses. But marshmallows… Yes. Fluffy, tasty marshmallows.

He threw some coins into the hole and took what was now his. He carefully tore the package and moved slowly to the room where the New Directions were waiting for him. He didn't care about the looks that people were giving him when he crossed the hall eating pink marshmallows. He was used to being different. Queer.

He wondered if he might've cared a little just a few days earlier, but now he just didn't give a fuck.

* * *

><p>"I can't imagine a better song than <em>Requiem aeternam. <em>It's about mourning, sadness and grief. It fits the situation perfectly. It's from a classic French musical _Le Roi Soleil…"_

"If we're talking about French, I like only…"

Santana gave Puck her typical don't-you-dare-say-anything-more-'cause-you're-making-an-idiot-out-of-yourself look. She just had to turn her head to him and roll her eyes and he already knew he had to shut up. That it wouldn't work this time. Every time she did that, he wondered why she has so much influence over him. That one move was enough for him to be quiet. He still shrugged his shoulders, like he wanted to say "whateva", but that didn't change anything.

"Maybe Puckerman was a little inappropriate" said Lauren suddenly. Well, maybe not so suddenly, as she already swallowed a candy bar and that was an inevitable sign that she was going to talk. And say something not exactly nice. "But he has a point. It's not just that we don't speak French…"

"Speak for yourself" Kurt said quietly. More to himself than to her.

" …but I bet that the rest of the people here don't either."

"But it's in Latin!" exclaimed Rachel. She was standing in front of them all. Again. As an advocate of a great idea. Or as a telemarketer. No, the second comparison wasn't exactly accurate - charismatic people on TV usually sold shit. She was trying to sell them to wonderful idea. And she was doing it with an emphasis.

"Yes, and that changes everything" Quinn said ironically. She rubbed her forehead with her hand like she would rather hide behind it and say "me-not-there" than sit there. Or like she wanted to get rid of a headache, which she got every time she had to listen to Rachel talking about great songs.

"Guys, guys!" Schuester suddenly stood up. Just in time, as always. "I think we can find a reasonable solution that will be appropriate and liked by all of us, can't we?"

"I will sing _Requiem_ anyway!" Rachel returned to her place, offended by their lack of understanding. It was so hard to cut diamonds into brilliants. So hard. "Even if I have to sing alone by his grave!"

"Be sure to do that at night" Quinn cut in once again. "During the day the cemetery caretaker could hear you and throw you out, thinking it was some kind of a lame ghost."

"So… if we're looking for something appropriate and fun, I have something on my mind" said Santana. "_Totally fucked."_

"Don't you think that's actually inappropriate?" Tina couldn't hide her surprise. That idea was so ridiculous.

"Well… He's dead. He's screwed. He's literally fucked."

"Figuratively" Artie corrected her.

"Unless we don't know some details" remarked Puck.

"Guys!" shouted Schuester.

"Hey! I have an idea."

Everyone turned to Britanny. She felt a little intimidated by the attention she drawn to herself. But she knew it was going to work this time. She had a really great idea which could end this embarrassing quarrel. She didn't like it when people fought in her presence. That reminded her of her parents' fights when she couldn't do anything. But now she was an adult. She had a voice.

"So…" she said, leaning forward so everyone could hear her. She smiled. Yeah, that was a really great idea. "I thought we already have a song ready to perform. _Marry you. _We only need to change the lyrics to _Bury you _and we can sing it at the funeral."

Artie reached with his hand to pat her on the knee, as always when she said something not very wise, but when he didn't want her to feel unloved. Fortunately he remembered in time that they weren't a couple anymore and pulled back his hand.

"Any other ideas?" Schue asked diplomatically.

"Maybe… you know. A classic. About longing, with a dose of melancholia, but not super-depressing. _Strawberry fields forever?"_ Artie threw out an idea.

"Hm, I think it's nice" said their coach and wrote the title with capital letters on a whiteboard. He underlined it with a sweeping line.

"To be honest" Sam spoke out for the first time. "I don't know why we have to sing at this funeral. It's not like I hate him, I'm not a bad person… But won't it be kinda out of place, maybe we shouldn't and… You know."

"Principal Figgins asked us to do that and I agreed with him." Will turned to them again and began with his "educator-mentor" voice tone, as always when he was summarizing their weekly lesson about "self acceptance", "crossing borders" and other such things. "After recent… events, we are the right people in the right place. Who if not us can prove that people can change, can overcome troubles, can do something good and be a better person? This is all that glee club is about. Becoming a better person through the music, with a little help from our friends."

"It is? I always thought that glee club is, by its very definition, 'bout opening yourself up to joy." Mercedes was always eager to find a hole in someone's logic.

"Oh, c'mon" Santana rolled her eyes. Again. "You're completely missing the point."

"Am I? We know what you're all 'bout and why you care 'bout this performance."

"If I may" Kurt raised his hand. He just wanted them all to shut up and think of the song. So they could leave that all behind. "I've got an idea."

He stood up neatly and came to the centre of the choir room.

"Artie is right. We can't be super-depressing. We need to be more… thought-provoking. We need to give them a while for reflection, but also give them a little optimism. And thank you, Mr. Schuester" he nodded to the teacher, slightly, but in that Kurt-drama way. "We've talked about self-acceptance and I think it's an important issue if we're considering the last… events. Death is sad."

Everyone went silent. Even Puck leaned forward to hear everything. Actually Kurt knew death very well. Once, as a child, he had to face it and he knew that there was a possibility to become stronger after a death of someone close. The second time, when Burt was close to dying, he took an important lesson. So his words may be wiser and have more meaning than theirs.

"But death is also a freedom from demons. We can do our best, we can give the mourners a lesson of joy and seizing life and lately New Directions seems to focus especially on sending good messages."

"Drink responsibly!"

"Exactly, Britanny. So if wherever, doesn't matter where, maybe nowhere, maybe… people can be whoever they want, untied by society, without fear of tomorrow…"

"Wait, wait, wait." Mercedes interrupted him. "It sounds like encouragin' to be dead."

"No, it's not" he replied. He was quiet for a moment. It was a no-argument "no". Said quickly. As a contradiction. "It's not encouraging. It's comforting. That there is a possibility that somewhere there's a better place. So I present to you another classic… _Spread your wings _by Queen."

"Kurt." Rachel was looking at the boy seriously. It was time to say what everybody there knew, but no one was willing to speak. Yes, maybe they weren't exactly supporting to each other when it comes to "diva-issues", but in the serious business they could always count on each other. "We all thought that you'd like to take a lead in the song, but I don't think it's your kind of…"

"Rachel, Rachel. Thank for your concern. And thank you, everybody" he said giving New Directions a fake, wide smile. "But I… I don't want to. I just don't."

"Okay, we understand. It would be too much" Mercedes supported him.

"Yes… That's exactly the point."

"And I think it's a good idea" Finn spoke. Earlier he felt a little odd - lost in this strange, anxious situation. "It has character, some "kick" and it's still appropriate."

"Thank you" Kurt finally took a long breath. Mission accomplished. Topic closed, now they needed to focus on the performance.

"So… It's your show and mostly your decision. _Strawberry _or _Spread?"_ Schuester wanted to finally dot the i's and cross the t's.

The majority voted for Queen.

* * *

><p>Kurt stood on the doorstep, looking at what was going in front on him. Opposite to him, in the exit from the other side room stood Quinn. She smiled to cheer him up. He sighed. He thought that everything would be easier to handle if the sun hid behind the clouds and the world was covered with mist. If it rained - maybe it would make his tears fall? But instead of rhythmically dropping raindrops there was only an old clock striking the monotonous rhythm, bright sunlight shining through the huge windows behind which he could see green leaves. And Kurt still hadn't felt a thing - neither sadness nor joy.<p>

The coffin was not too far from the mourners. It was open, decked with flowers. Behind it were three broad steps decorated with a red, soft carpet, and further, on the rise, a book of condolence surrounded by flowers and pictures of the deceased.

Ahead of the coffin stood Puck, Finn and Sam. Their heads were lowered, they were waiting for the first bits of the song. They looked extraordinarily elegant in black shirts with heads of white roses pinned on the level of their hearts. Kurt smiled unintentionally when he remembered how his stepbrother had confessed to him that he'd do everything just not to look into the coffin. That he was afraid of dead people. Finn still had a lot of a child in him… That sometimes made Kurt jealous.

Then the first sounds in d major played.

_Sammy was low  
>Just watching the show<br>Over and over again_

Finn raised his head. He sang straight to the audition. With confidence, looking into everyone's eyes. He was a charismatic performer, even if his vocal skills may leave a lot to be desired.

_Knew it was time  
>He'd made up his mind<br>To leave his dead life behind_

Puck joined in the singing. Kurt was a little surprised. So far he was sure that the boy could care only if it concerned him directly and even than not always. He sang like he felt a little… grief? Slowly, rhythmically he went to the right side of mourners to sing his verses exactly to them.

_His boss said to him  
>'Boy you'd better begin<br>To get those crazy notions right out of your head_

Sam looked up and passed to the left. His voice was a little shaky. He clasped his hands on his chest, like he wanted to raise a wall between him and all of that. Like he hasn't yet realized what was going on.

_Sammy who do you think that you are?  
>You should've been sweeping up the Emerald bar'<em>

The three of them, in perfect consonance, standing in a line, but in some distance between them, ended the verse. The soft ending gave the audience goosebumps. Not shouted, more like whispered, it was more touching. Kurt felt that Blaine should stand next to him. He should say something. They ought to talk about why he felt so little. But Blaine wasn't there and Kurt was the only one to blame.

"All right?" he heard Mercedes' voice from behind. He felt her warm touch on his shoulder. It was strange, but it was a little comforting, like losing a great burden. He knew that he had to face his problems alone, but her presence was consoling. He turned around and smiled. He didn't need to say anything. "It's us."

_Spread your wings and fly away  
>Fly away far away<em>

Calmly, feeling the tempo, the rest of New Directions members entered the stage. They stood in two rows, on two different levels, not in front of each other.

The choir gave a sound. Their voices echoed in the perfectly acoustic room. With confidence, quietly, but from the depths of their hearts they were harmonizing with the lead singers. Their subtle _a-a-fly-away_ gave more depth to their message. Like now there was no place to hide from emotions. Like everything was becoming more real with every verse.

_Spread your little wings and fly away  
>Fly away far away<em>

Suddenly the door opened and a tall blonde appeared on the doorstep. She quickly crossed the room to find a place where she could seat. She tried not to stand out, but her high, loud heels made it difficult. The first free seat was right next to Sue, because her row was strangely empty.

"It's not that people avoid me. I eat garlic. I like them to keep their distance" Sue explained herself cynically.

"Hello, Sue."

"It applies to you too, Holliday."

"I'm not afraid of garlic."

"What a shame" Sue said, widening the space between her and the other woman. She reached into her pocket for another clove of garlic. She chewed it. "Are you sure?"

"I am.

A few people in the row in front of her moved nervously.

_Pull yourself together  
>'Cos you know you should do better<br>That's because you're a free man_

Those verses were sung by Sam and Puck with support from the other voices. Finn came closer to the coffin. He unfastened the white rose from his shirt. He squeezed it in his hand. He was standing in front of the coffin, but he was looking at the mourners. _I won't look there. I won't. No way._

"Things between us were… complicated. Maybe because we both liked when things were going our way. You liked to win, maybe sometimes felt a pressure. That you had to be that particular way or another. I'm sorry… And if… I did something wrong… Then I'm sorry. Don't worry now. You're free now."

He threw the flower into the open coffin.

_He spends his evenings alone in his hotel room  
>Keeping his thoughts to himself he'd be leaving soon<em>

"Others didn't know that" Rachel came from the further rows. Slowly, with shivering fingers she unfastened the white rose from her black dress. "But I knew. That you were sensitive. Though you sometimes didn't understood the world. I wanted to… but I was afraid. I couldn't. If only I could… I would have helped you. Truly."

_Wishing he was miles and miles away  
>Nothing in this world nothing would make him stay<em>

"If I were put in their position, I'd be happy rather than say some trashy, sweet words that they probably even don't mean."

"You really don't believe in these kids, do you, Sue?"

"No. Never."

"You could give them a chance. Death and pain can trigger new levels of buried truth. They are very sensitive."

Sue didn't answer. That dose of fluff and pretentiousness wasn't even worth of her commentary.

"On the other hand." This time Holly leaned to the coach. The garlic was truly disgusting, but she could handle it. Per aspera ad astra, she repeated every time. You survived a kid throwing up next to you on Niagara and now garlic was supposed to be a challenge? Oh, come on. "Have you seen his neck?"

"Holliday, don't teach me how to do my job."

_Since he was small  
>Had no luck at all<br>Nothing came easy to him_

"There was a small difference between us" Quinn threw her rose inside the coffin. "We were living in the same world, had similar priorities. But I finally found true friends and courage to leave my past far behind… You didn't. I'm sorry. I hope you can now rest in peace."

_Now it was time  
>He'd made up his mind<br>'This could be my last chance'_

Artie rode up in his wheelchair. He stopped before the coffin, not behind it, so people could see him.

"You know… I could remember the bad times. When I got a slushie facial or I found a shooting target on the back of my wheelchair. But I can't. When I'm reaching into my memory, I see him rather stopping others from doing bad things, when he directed his strength in the right direction. I see him doing something good. It's a shame that he was given such a short time. But he used it well. If only he could've had more…"

_His boss said to him 'now listen boy  
>You're always dreaming<br>You've got no real ambition you won't get very far_

Kurt went to the coffin. He looked inside. The dead body looked so peaceful, so innocent. The boy tried to recall how Dave kissed him in the locker room. When he threatened him. He tried to awake the hate inside of him. Disgust. But instead of that he just stood there and looked at the sleeping face.

No. Dave wasn't sleeping. He was dead.

He tried to remember that good moments. Karofsky in the LGBT meeting. In the beret of the guardian angel. He tried to feel sadness, grief. But instead of that he just stood there and looked at the sleeping face.

No. Dave wasn't sleeping. He was dead.

He was dead.

And then that simple fact hit him. It wasn't about feelings. About memories. Now remembering didn't have any sense. It was pointless. What good are memories? He spent the last days on dwelling on the past to feel like a man again. On what bad he had done to Dave. What he could have done better. On how much Karofsky hurt him.

But it didn't matter now.

Kurt got off lightly, became stronger. But Dave…

Dave was dead.

And then Kurt, for the first time since Dave's death, cried. His tears dropped on his perfectly pressed lapels. He tossed his white rose. He decided not to wipe his tears away. He was proud of them. Of yourself. Of who he was. But Dave…

Dave was dead.

He was about to turn back when he noticed that Sue was rolling her eyes somewhere in the further rows. He didn't expect a sudden understanding for his burst of emotions, but the woman started waving… strangely. Kurt rubbed his eyes to be able to see more clearly. The coach was hitting her neck with an open hand. She poked herself in the forehead a few times. He could imagine what she was thinking about him right now. But then he understood what she was trying to say.

He leaned over the body. Touched the cold skin.

Dave was dead.

He gently uncovered a small piece of his neck, loosening the collar with his finger.

A few people whispered with indignation. Nobody knew how to react.

But it meant nothing, considering what Kurt saw on Karofsky's neck. Something what couldn't be hidden with a careless job of a cheap mortician.

_Sammy boy don't you know who you are?  
>Why can't you be happy at the Emerald bar?'<em>

It had been decided that Santana should be last. As his girlfriend, his most important person from New Directions. She wiped her tears with a dramatic gesture, though there were non. It's not that she didn't care. That she didn't give a shit. She cried when the news reached her. She even broke a glass throwing it at the wall. But she didn't feel like opening up to a bunch of strangers.

She was squashing the rose in her hands.

"We talked a lot about being yourself. About freedom. About spreading your wings. Oh my God" she whispered turning her eyes up. "We're all such hypocrites. We hadn't given Dave what he wanted the most. We were limiting him. It's not common knowledge that a few days before… We broke up. We weren't a couple when… Oh my God. Dave. You weren't happy because of us" she tried to stress as much as she could the condemnation in her voice, in her eyes. "Be happy THERE. Find a good, handsome guy who can give you true love. We hadn't let you."

The silence became so dense, so unbearable. Some people were tiding their clothes, some of them started to murmur, but no one knew how to handle that news. That accusation. Santana carelessly threw the rose into the coffin, turned around and climbed on the third platform when she joined to sing the finale.

_So honey  
>Spread your wings and fly away<br>Fly away far away  
>Spread your little wings and fly away<br>Fly away far away  
>Pull yourself together<br>'Cos you know you should do better  
>That's because you're a free man<em>

Despite the mourners who didn't know how to react and the confused choir members (she actually did that?), they were finishing with spirit and belief. They were strong and the emotional depth was growing with every single verse.

Only Kurt seemed like he lost his will. Because he understood what he would have to do.

Everyone lined up in a row before the coffin.

"_Come on honey_" Mercedes belted the note with power, nailing it. The high pitch was overwhelming for everyone sitting there. After a moment all of them ended with one, strong voice. One calling. A calling of sadness, but of hope at the same time. One message sent to everyone who gathered there that day.

_FLY WITH ME!_


End file.
